


charred

by timuzu



Category: Bloodborne (Video Game)
Genre: Ficlet, Gen, who tf is edcar
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-06
Updated: 2016-10-06
Packaged: 2018-08-19 20:22:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8223661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/timuzu/pseuds/timuzu
Summary: “The red moon hangs low, and beasts rule the streets. Are we left no other choice, than to burn it all to cinders?”





	

The cannon smoked at the end. Djura let it hung low, close to the ground. The hunter before him sat with his head bowed. Dead. 

Djura recalled his name,  Edcar. He remembered drinking with Edcar, foul taste of blood-spiked cocktail heavy on his tongue, the laughs they’ve shared over slain bodies of beasts. That one time when Edcar friendly fired into his kneecap, accidentally, or so he claimed. 

"Slippery fingers," Edcar said, holding up his hands, blood viscous between fingers. 

"Sure buddy" Djura smirked, then shot Edcar in the foot. "No hard feelings"  

They shared a bond, Djura and Edcar. But now he’s killed him. 

Edcar’s cloak was still fuming, charred fabric searing by the strings. His axe lay bloodied at the end of the landing, pistol held, still, in his left hand. Djura saw pools of red clotting around the hole of the cannon shot, no doubt the bullet went clean through, but it was not the cannon that killed him, it was fire. All beasts hate fire. 

“Fool” Djura spat, agitated by the stench of blood. “You’ve really done it now. Turned into one of them.”  

Beasts and man, they all burn the same, smell the same. Edcar’s blood carried with it the dangerous allure of vitality, just like the very blood vials Djura carried in his own pockets. The blood to revive, the blood to rejuvenate. It took everything within him to not reach for the empty vials on his belt, to fill them with the blood of his killing. 

Instead, Djura sat himself down, dropped the cannon to rest his dislocated shoulders. 

“I thought better of you, Edcar, I really did. You know, I thought when we leave this god awful place, you’d be there to buy me a drink at the bar” Djura spat again, he was feeling faint, a quiet frenzy burned at his temples. 

“And it’d be like none of this shit-hole-hell-spawn nightmare ever happened” Djura chuckled at that, he took out the notebook tucked in the second inner pocket of his jacket. “Look at me, your blood on my hands, my blood on your axe, and a fucking hole in the middle of your chest." 

His hands trembled as he scribbled into his notebook. The tremors were not from guilt or exhilaration of the execution, but rather the chronic use of the fire cannon that permanently disjointed his fingers. 

In his book he wrote. _The red moon hangs low, and beasts rule the streets. Are we left no other choice, than to burn it all to cinders?_  

Djura read the message over, his mind unfocused. Who is he asking? There is no one left, his sentience spoke to him from a corner of his still-functioning brain. The power kegs, they are all dead. 

“Except for me.” Djura said out loud. “All them fools went and got themselves killed. Except for me” 

 _This is rubbish._ He thought as he tore out the note from the book and left it on the ground. Fire will run its course, but so would the turn of the moon. 

He’s decided to stay. Men or beast, death is still the same.

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by a note left in front of the dead hunter in Old Yharnam. Djura really gets to me man.


End file.
